


If You Have the Time

by Kaleuh



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: F/M, Puppet/Object forms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleuh/pseuds/Kaleuh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, but how silly it was!<br/>To think one such as he,<br/>Would associate himself with childish "creativity."</p><p>But, then again, as he'd never thought,<br/>No one had ever been appreciative of this clock.<br/>_</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Have the Time

**Author's Note:**

> Possible oneshot. May be continued, may not be. I'd like to, so if creativity strikes, I shall! Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> The setting in this is based entirely off the second video. The time, the furniture, everything. I have a theory that the objects only come to life in the case that the three puppets need to "learn a lesson" about something. In the first video, it was because they were sitting around doing nothing, and needed to get creative. In the second one, It's because Red had gotten the time wrong (according to the clock). These are also not humanizations of the characters, they're in their regular forms.
> 
> 2000+ words.  
> First meeting. To be continued?  
> Enjoy!

_"It’s out of my hands…"_

The cacophony of horror roared from the humble television.

_"I’m only a clock!"_

The skin and flesh fell raw to the floor, oozing from their fine hair and bones.

_"Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine!"_

Trails of blood slithered graciously from the rotting, still-live corpses. Agony.

_"…But eventually everyone runs out of time!"_

Silence.  
__________

It was 3 hours 43 minutes and 26 seconds into the afternoon when he’d awoken with a disturbance. Milliseconds raced through his inner mechanics and brought him into cognizant consciousness, something he’d never known or felt before. Yet _something_ , an aching urge to teach and correct pulsed through his now sentient self. His knowledge of the vast everything was overwhelming.

**Time.**

The past, the present, the future.

**Time.**

History and all events scattered across its planes.

**Time.**

He could see it all and one word and one word only struck through him and gave him life.

**Time.**

It all flashed before his very eyes, his very _new_ eyes. He could hear and smell and think and breathe and _be._  
And the first monotone thing he heard was;  
 _"Come on guys, stop mucking around. We've only got 5 minutes until our show’s on."_

Incorrect. He knew immediately.  
Television schedules run on a very strict pace, and they would never begin a show at _3:48._ It could only be quarterly numbers, such as 3:15, 3:30, 3:45, or even 4:00 o’clock exactly. There was a natural instinct that had imprinted itself upon him, in his wake. There was personality, superiority, a _nobility_ he had to uphold. Obviously these creatures knew nothing of the importance of time.  
And that made him feel ever so slightly,

_ticked._

When he’d started to sing, he was sure of what his purpose was; to educate. Properly. Strictly.  
 _Timely._  
With this new found sense of purpose and malice, he found so much more in his talent and power.  
 _Power._  
With a wave of his uniquely gloved hands, he could travel the paths of the space-time continuum, he could show them the world and its olden days, the progression of mankind itself, and the circle of life and death that time draws.  
Throughout the duration of this number, however, they began to do something that only furthered him into darker shades of frustration; they began to _question._  
They began to _act against schedule._  
Most importantly, _they were mucking around._

This simply would not do. They would never learn anything if they continued about this way. Perhaps, he could use his powers to give them a little... _encouragement._ A bit of gentle, negative reinforcement.  
And so it was.

 

A little reality bending never hurt anyone, and he was sure that they would take his lesson seriously after that entire… _episode._  
The trio sat in their respective seats, color drained from their faces, for an extremely elongated moment before the naive-eyed yellow one turned slowly to look up at the clock in stilled terror. He looked back to his two friends, as if wanting to break the silence. The green one hushed him before he could even make a sound, though, as if ruining the numb quiet would somehow bring it all back. The bird looked to the red one, stealthily glancing to the clock with dread, and then motioning his head to the door. The red one nodded, cautiously and wisely, before all three of them hurriedly assembled out of the house. The time-keeper had no clue of where they might be off to, nor did he care too much. For they’d be back, and if he saw them wasting any more time, he’d be there. That was for sure.

He fully opened his eyes and extended his newly-found limbs once more to the floor. They only had themselves to blame, he thought, but that was 5 minutes and 53 seconds ago. It was only 3:50, and he had life, now! The future was anew, and he thought of all the wonderful things he could do. He’d have to consult his schedule! It was strange that he was now self-aware, especially in that he could hear himself ticking.  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
Ah, the sound was soothing indeed. He hummed proudly to himself, closing his eyes and letting the sound take him in. There was always time to appreciate the sound of time.  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _Tock_  
 _Tick_  
 _"That was quite a show you put on, there!"_

His eyes widened in an instant, whipping around to find this mysterious voice which startled him. He turned every which way, but to no avail could he find anyone in the room. He grimaced.  
"Who is this? Who’s there?" The tall-standing clock couldn't see anyone around for the life of him. He groaned. He had no time for hallucinations!

"Down here!"  
Taken aback, he knew that someone had definitely called out to him. Turning to the source of the voice, his eyebrows peaked in curiosity. Sitting idly on the small, blue bookshelf was…

a sketchbook?  
A smiling face waved up at him, pencil in hand. She blended so well into the other books, there was no possible way the clock could have spotted her there on his own. He bent downward slightly, with skepticism in his expression. The friendly book of pages still held an unwavering smile.  
His interest must have been apparent, for she interrupted him before he could get a word out.

"Sorry, I’m a bit on the short side, if your questioning begs. It’s just a bit hard to stand out without legs! You seemed to have overcome that problem, though, so good for you!"  
He blinked.  
"I’m sorry to scare you, I just wanted to see… well, how your whole song about time would be!"  
He blinked again, this time, shaking his dumbfounded stare. He straightened up, defaulting back to his crossly strict frown.  
"I wasn't _scared,_ for your information," He professionally fixed his bow-tie. "I was taken aback by this…interesting revelation."  
The sketchbook blinked with confusion. “What do you mean?”  
"Well, I didn't suppose it daft to assume that I was the only talking object in the room." He explained, folding his arms.  
"It’s not daft at all, and not far from the truth! The only live ones here are me and you!" The peculiar pad elaborated, struggling to reach up and climb onto the top of the shelf.  
The clock raised his brow inquisitively. It was certainly odd indeed. He felt as if he’d always been alive, even though he’d only just awoke from his dormancy. Why had he only just begun to experience his characterly immortality? Why had he only just begun to see and know facts about everything, including himself? Furthermore, what did this strange drawing pad have to do with it? Why was it only _them,_ according to her?  
"To be honest, I’d given up hope someone else would appear," she grew downtrodden, but quickly brightened. "But I was wrong, of course, since now you’re here!"

Was she behind this? Did she know more than he? The more he eyed her foolishly attempting to scale the bookshelf, the more impatient he grew. He would not trust someone so frivolous! The bow-tied mechanism’s gaze slowly turned to a glare.  
He did not trust her.  
"Say there friend, there must be much on your mind!" She’d retired from trying to climb the wooden shelf, and turned back to him. "Perhaps we can discuss things…" She seemed to retract into herself with a giggle.

"If you have the time!"

 _Click._  
Something in his cogs switched. Was she mocking him, now? He didn't find this to be funny in the slightest. Growing contempt made his clock-hands twitch.  
"Who said we were _friends,_ " he stared with discontentment. "I don’t have the time for _friends._ Or anything you’re up to, for that matter." He’d snapped out of rhyme. "I've much more important things to attend to, you see, and I've wasted far too much time as it stands." He motioned about, readjusting himself back into proper posture. He was onto this stranger’s game, and there was newly created tension in the air. Still, her vacant stare met his out of the corner of his eye.  
He felt…unnerved?

He shook the feeling away, whatever it was. He’d only experienced this strange sort of weakness and fear just as the moment passed, but he was sure to never allow himself to feel it again. He was onto her.  
"You’re a strange one to believe I’m here for your companionship," he boldly continued. "I’m the keeper of time, created for time by time, for all time purposes, and you’re—" The clock stopped himself, looking at the other object. The sketchbook stared with befuddlement, wondering what she had said to upset her new housemate. 

"You’re…who are you, anyway?"

"Oh, me? I’m Sketchbook!" She proudly declared. There was a bit of a pause that lingered.  
"…the sketchbook." She smiled. This newly found object was a silly one indeed, and his own curiosity forced his guard down. The jovial book of paper continued.

"Really, I didn't mean to startle you, friend! You see, I've been here for quite some time now, and I appeared in a similar way that you had! I popped up from what felt like a very long slumber, and awoke with the best knowledge of the most wonderful thing!"

The clock cocked an eyebrow. “And that is?”  
Sketchbook lit up immediately.  
"Creativity!" She waved her stickly arms, creating a rainbow with the word magically spelt within air. The only thing stranger than the fact that the color green was missing from said rainbow, was the realization that he wasn't the only one with powers.  
"And here I am! It’s all been so very exciting. I can see that you've already taken a liking to the children as well!"  
"…The Children?"  
"Why yes! Red, yellow and bird!"  
"Oh. _Them._ " He chuckled with cynicism. “‘A liking to’ is… _one_ way to put it."  
"I think your song was top notch, as well! Truly exhilarating!"

The clock blinked. He didn't know why he felt such an off vibe from this Sketchbook. Maybe it was because she appeared so docile, and, with the same smile, described the gruesome, gorey scene he had created as  
 _exhilarating._  
There was definitely something more to this… _creative_ individual.

"The way you stuck to the lesson with such fervor! They must be so grateful to know how important time is, now. It was ever so _creative._ " The word echoed in multicolored cursive, and traveled around the clock’s circular head. Perhaps there weren't any ulterior motives to this paper-pad. After all, she seemed so appreciative of the effort he put into time, he was finding it more and more difficult to mistrust her.  
"Well…thank you," He stated with hesitant earnest. "It’s nice to know that someone appreciated my lesson and words. To think the others were so ungrateful - it’s grossly absurd!"

"I also really enjoyed your singing!"

This made him pause.

"…You liked my singing?"  
"Absolutely! You have a very unique voice, friend! It was a bit saddening the song had to end!"

He hadn't known what to say. He thought himself a top notch singer- but those three had disrespected him in such a way that one’s ears had started to bleed. The nerve!

"You really think so?"  
"Of course!"  
"…Thank you." He paused, for what felt like 4 seconds too long. He shook himself, facing her fully.

"I’m sorry about… I mean, I was a bit hasty to judge you. My name is Tony the Clock, and I hope we can start anew." He cleared his voice, aristocratically putting out a gloved hand to her.

She laughed once more, and shook his hand. “It’s a privilege to meet you, and I think you’ll agree, that we’re going to be very great friends indeed!”

He still had no idea of what to make of this Sketchbook, where she came from, or how… _powerful_ she might be. There was still a sort of air about her that unsettled him, for reasons unknown, but he was determined to find out who she really was. If she was anything like him, he might be able to discover more about his existence.

And, perhaps, he could learn a lesson about this mysterious entity called

_Friendship._


End file.
